Snowball
by fifthofnovember
Summary: House had a cat as a child. An idea I started writing, and this is what I got at the end. Alternate ending to Wilson's Heart. T for child abuse and character death. Sad, but could still be considered a crack fic. No pairing.


**A/N: Oh, the ideas that come unbidden after a bad day. I wasn't sure whether or not to even upload this, but I wrote it, and I haven't seen anything similar, so I figured what the heck. Started with an idea, became a paragraph, ended with a ficlet. Kind of crackish, but not intended to be humor. No animals, real or fictional, were harmed in the creation of this fic. **

As a child, Gregory House had a cat; a beautiful, all white cat named Snowball. His parents had obviously procured the cat from somewhere, but he didn't know exactly where. It could have been a pound cat, or a stray, or the pick of the litter from a nearby farm. He didn't know and he didn't care. All he knew is one day there was a wonderful white kitten with fur as soft as a rabbit's for him to hold and play with and love, and the kitten loved him back. It took a few months, but Snowball eventually developed a ritual of waiting outside Greg's door for him to crawl into bed, and when he did, Snowball would jump up onto the bed, nestle himself tightly against Greg's chest with his little head wedged under his chin as soon as the young man got comfortable, and fall asleep that way, purring contentedly with Greg's arm tightly around him. Snowball would stay in bed especially to snuggle with Greg. As soon as Greg got up, Snowball was up. He only slept in Greg's bed when Greg was in it.

The times Greg's father was cold, Snowball was warm. When his father's angry voice echoed in Greg's head, Snowball drowned it out with his purring. If Greg was sent to bed without dinner for one night, or two, or even three, the soft scent of Snowball's fur took his mind off the smell of the food. Whenever Greg was sick or scared or lonely, he and Snowball took care of one another. In summer, when the storms would get bad and Greg would get scared, he'd keep Snowball close and if he got scared enough, he'd take them both down to the basement and wait out the storm there, Snowball peering curiously out the window as though the storm was a big adventure he wanted to experience.

His father could hit him all he wanted. He'd really stopped caring about that; there was nothing he could do about it anyway. There was nothing anyone could do about it, least of all his mother. Teeth could be replaced, cuts and bruises healed, no harm, no foul. He knew his father would never _really_ hurt him, that would make his father look bad, something he'd never stand for. God knew Greg did that often enough, and that's probably why he was his father's punching bag. The thing that shattered Greg's trust in his father forever were the words he spoke after a firm right cross to his son's jaw for some infraction Greg couldn't even remember: "And don't go thinking that stupid _cat_ is going to make anything better either." John House not only didn't love his son, he also couldn't stand the thought that anything or anyone else would either.

Greg spent that night awake while Snowball slept next to him. He stroked the cat's soft fur all night, kissed his wet nose goodbye in the morning before going off to school, and cried inconsolably until he got there. He knew…he just knew. And he was right. When he got home, his mother told him, as tenderly as possible, that Snowball had "gotten out" and they'd "looked all day" and couldn't find him.

He was back on the bus. With Amber. Everything was white.

"You're dead."

"Everybody dies."

"Am I dead?"

"Not yet."

"Wilson is gonna hate me."

"You kinda deserve it." She said that with as much compassion as he'd ever seen Amber muster up.

"He's my best friend." _Best friend. I've never said it before. He's my best friend. My only friend._

"I know….I know."

"I could stay here with you…" He knew he was grasping at straws, but Amber was at least willing to show him some sympathy and compassion.

"Get off the bus."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Cuz…cuz it doesn't hurt here. I don't wanna be in pain, I don't wanna be miserable. And I don't want him to hate me."

"You can't always get what you want."

_If only…if only there was someone who could make it all OK, who could make all the pain go away...I just wish I had **someone**_ House lamented as he made his way off the bus, tears clouding his vision, not wanting to face another day of pain and now, complete loneliness without Wilson. No one would care anything about him now. No one.

If he hadn't taken a last look back, he would have missed the form of the sleeping cat curled up on the front seat of the bus, white on white on white. His heart leapt into his throat. He thought maybe he'd wished so hard he was hallucinating here too, even in this netherworld between worlds. His hand shook and his eyes welled up with tears of hope as he reached out to the animal. Its fur was as soft as a rabbit's. He took the cat in his arms and buried his face in it, sobbing uncontrollably. He'd know that smell anywhere. _Anywhere_.

House sat down at the front of the bus with the purring cat in his arms, its fur soaking up his tears. "Who says you can't always get what you want," he murmered into Snowball's neck.


End file.
